


Flat Tires and First Dates

by JoulesIsIronic



Series: "Halinski"s and Fanfiction Acronyms: a.k.a. the Teacher AU [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teachers, First Dates, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/pseuds/JoulesIsIronic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their impromptu make-out session, well-loved English teacher Stiles Stilinski awaits the arrival of broody mathematics instructor Derek Hale for what is supposed to be their first date.</p>
<p>Sequel/Companion Piece to <em> What the Hell is a Halinski? </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Flat Tires and First Dates

They decide to meet at a coffee shop near the school, because that’s not at all clichéd. It’s Saturday afternoon – less than 24 hours after the event-that-will-be-spoken-about-with-reverent-tones; the overcast skies - thunderous and spouting intermittent downpours - set a nice contrast to the warm beverages and comfortable atmosphere offered by Java Central.

Pumpkin Spice Latte in hand, Stiles settles himself in a cozy little corner, pressed into the hard metal ridges of the seat, providing himself with a perfect view of the door. He waits for Derek with sweaty hands, nervously tapping his foot against the sticky hardwood floor, listening to the _chhhhh_ of his shoe detaching from the surface, reminiscent to the sound of tape being slowly unpeeled.

Five minutes after their supposed meeting time, Stiles begins checking his phone obsessively. He’s relatively sure he’s just being paranoid. He tells himself, five minutes isn’t a big deal; he’s probably just running a little late. He blows steam from his latte, taking slow sips to ease his increasing tension.

At fifteen minutes in, he sends Derek a text: _???_ From his bag, he retrieves some of his student’s papers and a pen, hoping that he can present the façade of a teacher grading papers rather than the pitiful image of a date being stood up.

By thirty minutes in, his thoughts have gone bitter. Furiously, he gnaws his bottom lip, painting the pages before him red. His latte is gone by now, cold, lingering drops caking to the bottom of the Styrofoam. He should have known better than to hope their brief little stunt the other day was something more. Not that the make-out session wasn’t completely awesome; and the dinner that followed had been pretty damn close to perfect. But it had all happened so quickly, a whirlwind of spontaneous passion. Derek hadn’t been given a chance to second guess the shift from friendship to something more; and maybe now that he had…

Well, Stiles supposes he can’t blame him for changing his mind. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

He scribbles another bold, spiteful F onto a document, so engrossed that he almost doesn’t give into the instinct to glance up at the _ding_ of the entrance. But he does, and that’s how he finds himself spying his favorite colleague – the perpetually grumpy, but stunningly handsome, math instructor – Derek Hale.

The man in question is completely and entirely soaked to the bone, grey Henley clinging to his skin, outlining his perfect six-pack and emphasizing chiseled physique Dark hair is plastered to his forehead. As Derek frantically scans the room – all green eyes and red cheeks – Stiles can see droplets of water glistening off his scruffy beard, losing their grip and merging with the liquid already soaking his shirt. Stiles is too surprised by his presence to really do much more than stare, but Derek finally locks eyes with him and visibly sags with relief.

He’s already making a beeline for Stiles before Stiles can finish registering his shock. Stiles hasn’t managed to come up with some witty one-liner to break the tension – his mind is still blank, too busy taking in the soaked-kitten-look Derek is showcasing – but he ultimately doesn’t have to.

“Flat tire,” Derek pants, hovering over the table. His fist – clenched and bone-white – releases, and the remains of what appear to have once been a cell phone clatter onto some of Stiles’ students’ assignments; a puddle quickly forms under the former-device, droplets of water leaving stains in the paper. “Phone broke,” Derek admits between heaves. “And no one would stop.”

Something clicks in Stiles’ mind. “Did you _run_ all the way here?”

Derek nods, finally pulling out the chair and collapsing into it.  “Didn’t want you to think I ditched.”

“Dude, you live, like, on the complete other side of town,” Stiles exclaims, his hands gesturing wildly.

Derek’s cheeks color again, but this time it’s not from fatigue. “It didn’t break down until a couple of miles from here,” he says in a quiet voice. “It wasn’t _that_ far.”

“Define a couple of miles,” Stiles demands, eying him suspiciously. He would guess at least four, maybe more.

Derek huffs; it’s adorable. “Near the preserve.”

Stiles quickly calculates. “That’s like, six miles, Derek. In the rain. Jesus, you’ll be lucky if you don’t get pneumonia!”

“No one would _stop_ for me, Stiles! Would you have, if you didn’t know me?”

“God no, you look like a serial killer,” Stiles says, laughing. It was only half-true, anyway. Stiles totally would have stopped for him, even against his better judgment; he would have seen it as a _sign_ if some Adonis-like figure was dropped in his lap (literally or figuratively).

“I had no other way of getting here,” Derek complains dejectedly, his gloriously thick eyebrows and ridged pout casting a striking resemblance to Grumpy Cat.

Stiles smiles, reaching his hand out to grasp Derek’s, which is cold to the touch. Derek looks up from the hole he was boring into the table and his gaze softens as their eyes lock.

“You’re adorable,” Stiles tells him. Derek rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk up in an almost-smile.

“So what happened to your car?” Stiles has a difficult time imaging Derek parting from his baby, or letting AAA tow it without him, and…

Wait. There’s no way Derek would have had time to wait for a tow. And his phone broke. How would he have even called them….?

“I left it,” Derek admits, shrugging helplessly.

“You left the _Camaro_?” Stiles all but shrieks. The other patrons stare, but Stiles ignores them. “You love that car more than the collective life-forces on this planet! I once saw you _growl_ at a small child for daring to touch it!”

“Yeah, well, I guess some things are more important,” Derek says with flushed cheeks; he’s staring anywhere but Stiles’ face.

There’s something warm and comforting wrapping around Stiles’ heart, filling his stomach with butterflies and making his head light and airy. Stiles gives the hand he’s holding a squeeze, and then pulls it close to press a gentle kiss near the knuckle.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Stiles tells him. “First, we’re going to buy you something nice and warm to drink. Then we’re going to pile into my jeep, wrap you in a spare blanket, call AAA, and drive out to the Camaro. We’ll get the Camaro towed. I’ll follow the truck in my car. And then the two of us are going back to my place, where I’ll warm you up properly and show you my very sincere appreciate for your efforts to get here. That sound like a plan?”

Derek nods.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place the day after _What the Hell is a Halinski_. It was written partially to fill a prompt for an exercise in my fiction workshop, in which we were challenged to write a genre we don’t typically write; I chose romance. I think this is about as close as I get (though I’m working on it!). Hope you liked it!


End file.
